A Stitch in Time
by MinervaM
Summary: After his legendary battle with Lord Voldemort, Harry Potter hopes that his life will return to normal. That, however, is far from reality. One of his few surviving 'friends' is in a serious pickle after a potions accident. HPMM.
1. Fiddling Around

**Chapter One  
FIDDLING AROUND**

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DISCLAIMER:** All characters are the property of J. K. Rowling. I do not own any of this material, except the plot line, of course. [Hehe. I have always wanted to write that.]

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Harry fumbled with the golden chain clinging to his neck, from which a pendant of a snitch dangled. It had been a present from Ginny on their first Valentine's Day after they were married, and it had not moved from his neck since her dying day. The hole in Harry's heart gaped and burned. No woman would ever fill that space. Or so he thought …

********

Harry Potter stood tentatively in front of the mirror, adjusting his scarlet dress robes and attempting to flatten his wild hair. Preparing for a job interview was _not_ an easy task – particularly when Harry had no idea of what was considered presentable in this day and age. It did not help that, until recently, the only clothes – aside from wizard's robes – in his possession were exceptionally baggy, having once belonged to Dudley. He had been brought up with absolutely no aptitude for self-image. Following numerous attempts to neaten himself up, to no avail, Harry finally gave up on the mirror. He departed his home in Godric's Hollow with an audible 'crack'.

********

Harry found himself at a set of wraught iron gates, which had been bolted, rather well, by magic. With no other choice, he withdrew his holly and phoenix feather wand from the pocket of his scarlet dress robes, watched a silver stag erupt, and waited. Harry could swear that he heard a child screaming something about almost getting eaten by a giant squid, but his train of thought was interrupted by the light of a lantern coming towards him from the castle. Memories surged through Harry's mind.

This time, however, it was not Severus Snape who came to greet him, but Argus Filch, looking as crook as ever. Harry could only hope that Mr. Filch had forgotten about the KwikSpell incident in Harry's first year.

********

Harry rapped on the intricate, oak door that led to an all-too-familiar circular office. "Come in," replied a weathered voice. The heavy door creaked open, and Harry could see that the occupant of the office was both shocked and honoured of the tall figure that entered. Minerva McGonagall sat at her desk, a rare smile dancing across her face.

Harry nervously crept into a seat opposite the wooden desk. "I … the …" He realised that if he were to get this job, he would have to get a grip on himself. "I'm here for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position, as advertised in the Prophet." His stomach squirmed. Harry wondered whether the job was still jinxed.

McGonagall raised her eyebrows, "Don't get me wrong, it's an honour to have you here, but I was under the impression that you were seeking employment at the Ministry."

"Well, actually, professor, I think I've fought enough dark wizards for a lifetime. For once, I want to live a quiet life."

"Very well. You haven't passed your NEWTs, I see. Then again, I don't think we'll see such a skilful and decent applicant for a very long time. Very well, then. Why exactly do you want this job? What unique skills do you think you possess that make you a better applicant than anybody else?"

Little did Harry know that Minerva McGonagall was willing to give him the job, no matter what he said. He fidgeted with his fingers as he thought out his answer. "Well ... I dunno ... I guess Hogwarts has always been my home." This was the truth, but to Harry, it sounded like the most pathetic answer to any question he'd ever heard. He continued, "I just want the kids to be prepared for whatever's out there. Life isn't happy-go-lucky like it is in the storybooks. There _are_ things out there, and although fighting dark wizards is nothing like the classroom situation, I want to bring the two closer together. I don't just want to teach spells and practice them on matches and feathers, I want to add another dimension to the lessons."

"Might I ask about any prior experience?"

'This was a question? Had she been living under a rock these past seven years?' Harry thought. "Um ... let's see, now ... I stopped Voldemort from getting to the Philosopher's Stone, I saved Ginny Weasley from a Basilisk, I freed Sirius Black, fought off about 50 dementors, duelled Voldemort in a graveyard, set up my own Defence Against the Dark Arts class, fought off the Death Eaters countless times, and defeated one of the darkest wizards of all time."

Minerva nodded her head and began to jot down notes on a sheet of parchment.

Harry was extremely nervous. It did not help that Professor McGonagall's face was as stern as ever. How could he ever be so stupid? McGonagall would never let him take the job without NEWTs.

She cleared her throat. "Potter, you may go." Harry's heart sank. "Or should I say, _Professor_ Potter. I'll see you on the first of September."

Another of her rare smiles flickered across her face. In fact, this was no ordinary rare smile, this was a grin.

Harry did not know what to say. A gigantic smile sprawled itself across his face. "Th … thank you, professor."

"If we're going to be colleagues, I give you permission to call me Minerva." McGonagall raised herself from her throne-like chair, and dusted her tartan robes. "Now, if you'll excuse me," she began, "I must deliver some papers to the owlery. I believe a man named Gregory Goyle would like to know why he was rejected for the position." To this, Harry let out a loud chuckle.

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**[ A/N ] **Thanks to everyone for your positive feedback! It has really kept me motivated.

I am hoping to update every seven days at the very most, but I cannot make any guarantees.

In case you are wondering when this is set, it is a year after the legendary battle between Harry and Voldemort. As for why Ginny's dead, you'll find out in due course.


	2. The Unexpected Guest

**Chapter Two  
THE UNEXPECTED GUEST**

**DISCLAIMER:** All characters are the property of J. K. Rowling. I do not own any of this material, except the plot line, of course.

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A witch with snarled, unbrushed, black hair and a crooked nose stood outside Eeylop's Owl Emporium, brandishing a large box. Before long, a young woman with silky red hair skipped by.

"Would you like a time turner, my sweet? They're only two galleons."

"Ooh, yes please! I haven't been able to get my hands on one of those since we smashed the supply at the Ministry." She pulled two fat, gold coins from the pocket of her jeans.

Just as they were about to exchange items, Harry bolted down Diagon Alley as fast as he could. "NO, GINNY! DON'T TOUCH IT!" But it was too late. Too late to even say goodbye.

******

Harry awoke in a vicious sweat, his eyes stinging and filled with tears. Every night for the past five months, he had relived the same anguish, the same agonising memory. Ginny was gone, and it was entirely his fault. How could he let her wander around Diagon Alley on her own, with her innocent mind? As for that stupid woman, selling cursed time turners. 'May she rot in hell,' Harry thought.

After a cool shower and a spot of breakfast, Harry returned to his room. His tawny owl was tapping at his window. Harry had named his new owl Elphick, which he had found, like Hedwig, in _A History of Magic_. Elphick was clutching a copy of the Daily Prophet. Harry didn't know why he bothered to subscribe. There wasn't any _real_ news any more – no disappearances, no mysterious deaths, no mass breakouts from Azkaban – only 124 pages of fillers, courtesy of the scandalous Rita Skeeter. Harry took the paper from the owl, and unravelled it. His eyes pored over the front page, but then he saw something that caused him to do a double take. The date in the corner indicated that today was the 31st of August. He would be off to Hogwarts tomorrow.

At least that gave him something to do. Instead of sitting around the house, drinking coffee, bored out of his wits, Harry could pack his trunk. It was then that he realised how little he knew about teaching. What kind of things should he pack? Was he supposed to have lessons planned already? He decided that he needed a trip to Diagon Alley; he would just pick up anything and everything that he found fitting.

******

Some tedious hours later, Harry Potter found himself, once again, aboard the Hogwarts Express, in an empty compartment. He hauled his trunk up into the luggage rack. It was rather heavy. Harry had managed to cram in at least twenty books from Flourish and Blotts, and had packed the shard of Sirius' mirror and his dad's old invisibility cloak for good measure, as well as his necessities. His heart twittered – this scarlet steam engine would take him to Hogwarts, his home in a matter of hours. Harry was withdrawn from his train of thought when the compartment door shot open.

"Harry!" piped an all-too-familiar voice.

"Neville? What are you doing here?" Neville Longbottom still sported some permanent scars from the Carrows' vile punishments, but he didn't look half as bad as when Harry had last seen him.

"I'm the Herbology professor. My gran doesn't like it; she thinks Herbology is a soft option – she thinks everything's a soft option, really – but I think it's fantastic! This year, I'm going to be working with mandrakes, shrivelfigs, puffapods, bubotubers –"

"– That's great, Neville. Um, listen, you get comfortable in here, and I'll go see if I can find the trolley."

******

Harry had been having a rather enjoyable time on the Hogwarts Express, talking to Neville and nibbling at some Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, when the compartment door slid open for a second time. A young girl in Hufflepuff robes stood dumbfounded in the doorway, staring at Harry's face. Harry cocked his head to the side, causing the girl to snap out of her trance. She then handed two small scrolls of parchment to both Harry and Neville.

"Oh no." Harry muttered after reading the message. "Professor Slughorn must've gotten wind that we're on the train. I was hoping he'd forgotten about us." He glanced down at the fat scrawl covering the parchment.

_Harry, m'boy,_

_It would be delightful if you could come down to compartment C for lunch. It seems like forever since we last met. I would love to catch up and introduce you to some fascinating people._

_Professor H. Slughorn_

Neville nodded. "I suppose we should go, then."

The two got up reluctantly – partially annoyed and partially nervous – about the remainder of the trip.

******

"Alas, Harry, m'boy." chortled a rather portly man. The only acknowledgement he gave Neville was a slight nod. "Sit down, sit down." he urged, shuffling in his seat.

"What brings you here Harry? Coming back to finish your NEWTs? Of course, with your potions expertise, I daresay you'll need the extra study. And Nelson, is it? I thought you completed your schooling last year?"

"Actually, Professor," Harry began, "We're teachers,"

"Oho. Oho! Is that so? If it isn't Potions, then, what _do_ you teach?"

"Defence Against the Dark Arts, sir."

"Oho. Of course. What, with all that fighting against the Dark Lord, I suppose. I still say you'd make a dab-hand Potions professor. Perhaps when I retire. What about you, Nelson?"

"It's Neville." He corrected. "I'm teaching Herbology."

"Hmm. Well, let me introduce you to some people."

Harry and Neville sat silently for the next forty-five minutes, nibbling at some pheasant sandwiches. They listened to Professor Slughorn boast about Marietta Jones, Gwenog's niece; Alfred Bode, Broderick's son; and about ten others whose names Harry could not remember.

******

When the Hogwarts Express finally lurched to a halt, Harry and Neville sprung off the train and pushed to the front of the crowd. The traditional thestral-drawn carriages awaited the students. This time, however, Neville could see the thestrals too.

The two new professors spent much time debating over whether they should take the carriages to the castle, or whether the transportation was intended for students only. In the end, they jumped aboard a carriage, and hoped that none of the students would miss out due to their decision.

The Great Hall looked ten times brighter and more elegant than it had in previous years. Of course, nothing had changed, except the atmosphere, which had optimised exponentially since the downfall of the Dark Lord.

The sorting took place, and Harry was delighted to see so many new Gryffindors. As Professor McGonagall was now headmistress, it was Professor Flitwick who brought in the three-legged stool and the Sorting Hat, and led the first years in to be sorted. After the sorting, McGonagall rose from her seat to give the start-of-term announcements. It felt rather foreign to Harry, not hearing Dumbledore's absurd words which nobody could make sense of.

"Welcome, welcome, to another year at Hogwarts. First, and foremost, there have been some staff changes. I would like you to make Professor Longbottom, our new Herbology teacher, welcome." Neville stood slowly. He looked absolutely petrified, but relaxed a little when he was greeted with applause.

"I don't know how many times I have had to say this, but we once again have a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher." Harry's stomach lurched, remembering the jinx that had been placed on the position. He wondered whether this year would be his last. "I trust you will make Professor Potter most welcome." Cheers, applause and whispers erupted all over the Great Hall as Harry stood and nodded slightly. He hated all this blasted publicity.

"Finally, as most of you will know, Professor Sprout retired at the end of last year, leaving the Head of Hufflepuff House position vacant. It is my pleasure to announce that Rubeus Hagrid will be filling this position." Harry grinned and applauded as hard and fast as he could. He didn't care how stupid he may have looked. Hagrid appeared overwhelmed.

"And now, without further ado, let the feast begin." Mountains of food and songs of chatter filled the merry hall. Harry had forgotten how good it was to be home.

******

Harry was on his way down to the kitchens. His mind was far too alive after the feast, and he decided that a hot chocolate might help him sleep. As Harry was just about to tickle the pear on the portrait to the kitchens, he heard something odd from just down the corridor. _**KABOOM!**_ Trace amounts of smoke began to trickle into the dungeon corridor in which Harry was standing. Naturally, his curiosity kicked in, and he went to go investigate.

Harry wrenched open the door of Dungeon Five. The smoke was beginning to clear. He managed to make out a portly figure. "Professor! Professor Slughorn! Are you alright?" As the smoke dissipated and Harry's senses returned to normal, he distinguished another figure as well.

A woman with sleek, ebony hair pulled into a tight bun, rosy cheeks, vivid lips and a beautifully curved body stood in shock. She appeared to be about thirty. Harry thought he recognised her from somewhere, but he couldn't identify her.

In an attempt to be polite, Harry cleared his throat. "Sorry, ma'am. I'm Harry. Harry Potter. I don't think I caught your name." He raised his right hand to offer a handshake. To his dismay, she rejected it, and gave a rather stern reply.

"My name is Minerva McGonagall."

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**[ A/N ]** Ooh … the suspense. Sorry I haven't updated in a while. This chapter was very difficult, in that I had to decide what content to include, and what to cut.

Thanks for your support and comments!

By the way, Neville can see the thestrals now because he witnessed Voldemort, and most likely many of the other Death Eaters, die.


	3. In Hiding

**Chapter Three**

**IN HIDING**

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The euphoria and laughter reverberating off the walls of the Great Hall was hardly enough to ward the troubled thoughts from Harry's mind. The ornate chair planted grandly beside him remained vacant. No matter how many times Harry tried to convince himself that its usual occupant was delivering papers, or meeting with an important person, he knew that those things were as far from the unpleasant truth as the Dursleys possessing magical blood. This had obviously not gone unnoticed by the other staff members, either. Flitwick was busying himself handing out timetables; although his height meant that he often had to jump and shout before the students discerned his presence. Harry could see Hagrid, down at the far end of the high table, writing on some sort of cue cards in his gigantic scrawl. He seemed to be preparing a speech – possibly the one that should have been delivered by McGonagall.

Now several questions flooded Harry's mind. Why was McGonagall hiding herself? Surely, she could just transfigure herself back to normal, or have Horace administer her a simple potion. What had happened to her, anyway?

His train of thought was quickly ruptured by the appearance of a tall, burly figure. "Hey, Harry." It was Neville. His eyes flitted over the empty chair, but his reaction seemed to suggest that the absence of the headmistress was not uncommon. "You all ready for your first day?"

"Er … I guess so." Harry lied. He knew that he was perfectly capable of improvising a lesson about stunning spells, disarming spells or shield charms; after all, his DA lessons had been mostly ad-lib. "Erm … listen, Neville, have you seen McGonagall? There's something I need to ask her."

In actual fact, Harry did not need to consult his former professor about anything; he just wanted to make sure that she was alright. After being shooed from the dungeons the night previously, Harry felt rather guilty for not ensuring her wellbeing, especially considering McGonagall's lack of presence, in her weathered state.

"No, I haven't." responded Neville, now piling eggs and toast onto his golden plate. Harry had been so lost in thought that he had forgotten to eat. He realised how odd he must have looked, and immediately filled his goblet with fresh pumpkin juice.

******

It was not until Harry's spare lesson – after almost ripping his hair out trying to teach first years the disarming spell, the fourth years the jelly-legs jinx, and the sixths, non-verbal spells – that he decided to wander around the castle. Although he doubted that much had changed since his return a year ago – aside from the obvious lack of corpses and debris – it had been on his agenda to revisit Dumbledore's portrait, and perhaps mention something to that of the sallow-skinned, hooked-nosed, Severus Snape. Despite Harry's pressing hatred of the greasy git, he thought it only fitting to acknowledge his efforts.

Before he had reached the eagle gargoyle, however, he heard sobs issuing from beyond the corridor wall; woman's sobs. He glanced around him, but the only other being present was the portrait of a domestic cat, which had never come to his attention before. Revolt gushed up inside of Harry – the last time he had seen a portrait of a cat was in Professor Umbridge's office – as well as curiosity. He was determined to find out where the mysterious noise was coming from, as he was certain that cats could not sob; in the muggle world, at least. He pressed his ear up against the wall with caution, not forgetting the last time he had heard mysterious noises issuing from the depths of the castle, and Harry could not avoid the foreboding sense that accompanied that memory.

Something thudded in Harry's mind, which he wished he could have remained oblivious to. _Was that …? No, it … it couldn't have been. He was simply worrying too much._

Contrary to what he _wanted_ to believe, Harry knew that he was not delusional. As he began to pace forwards, his ear still awkwardly pressed against the corridor wall, the sobs began to ever-so-slightly augment.

THUD. Pain surged up into Harry's ear. As he had paced up the corridor, he had walked into that ridiculous portrait of the cat, and his ear, which had been squashed up against the wall, had taken the full blow. Harry stepped back, clutching his now throbbing left ear, when he noticed something curious. The portrait was hanging ajar off the wall. That could only mean one of two things: there was a room concealed behind that portrait, or he had walked into it so hard that it had damaged.

Harry knew, unquestionably, which of the two possibilities had occurred.

Some things had not changed since Harry had first walked the hallways of Hogwarts; and his curiosity was one of them. As the blood thundered through his head, he groped for the portrait frame and tugged. An opening in the stone had now been revealed, but the space beyond the wall was very dim, and Harry could only just make out the flickers of burning candles amidst the shadows. If his head wasn't burning so savagely, he would have sworn that this was nothing more than a childish dream.

Harry stooped down to step through the portrait hole.

There, sprawled by the fireplace, was the beautiful mistress whom Harry had seen the night previously, but her splendour was no more. Her hair was dishevelled, her glasses askew, and her brilliant blue eyes alight with tears.

Against all of her Gryffindor virtues – all of her strength and pride – there she lay, in a state of decay.

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**[A/N] **Sorry about the extremely slow update. I promise that I did not forget about you, especially after the promise that I made. I was just EXTREMELY busy, and having some difficulty with plot-holes.

Thanks for all your patience, and for sticking with me right up until now.


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